Jealousy
by let'strythatagain
Summary: If only John hadn't panicked. He would be with Greg by now... Update: 07/07: Sorry to have been away for so long. In recompense, all chapters now up and work is complete. Gets a bit plotty towards the end but don't worry, there's some sex in the epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

John groaned as his alarm woke him. 6am. Bloody hell. They'd closed a case the night before and he hadn't got to bed until after one am, and hadn't slept until much later. He should never have agreed to take the early shift at the surgery. He rolled out of bed, silenced his alarm clock and dragged himself to the shower. A good hot shower was what he needed, to try and wash away the memories of last night.

Once he was showered and dressed he slipped quietly down into the kitchen and made himself a tea. He walked gingerly into the living room and saw that Greg was still sprawled out on the sofa. Of course he was. It was 6.30, no-one sensible was awake at that time. John sipped his tea and watched the other man sleep. Greg had slept in his boxers, covered in a blanket. He was stretched out on his side, long legs dangling off the edge of the sofa. John watched his chest rise and fall, took in his rumpled hair and parted lips. John almost groaned. He was so stupid. It should have never happened. Sherlock had been whizzing around like a whirligig, all day, full of excitement at a solved case. Excited enough that he even agreed when John suggested they have a celebratory Chinese, and invite Greg along. After the meal they'd gone back to Baker Street for a drink and, as per usual Sherlock dropped into a dead sleep as soon as he hit the sofa, the manic energy that had kept him functioning for the last few days on power naps and double espressos completely deserting him. Greg and John between them half dragged, half carried him to his room and dumped him on the bed. The two men retired to the sofa to finish their drinks, chatting and laughing at the ridiculous dance Sherlock had led them on for the past few days.

John wished he could say he wasn't expecting it, but the atmosphere in the room had been building since they put Sherlock to bed. So, after a particularly extended bout of hiccuping laughter, when Greg leaned across and kissed him, to be honest it wasn't that much of a surprise. What did surprise him was the electricity that had run though his body when their lips touched. John was straight, had always been straight. Not even the years in the army had made him question it. But when Greg's lips parted and tongue slid out running along John's lips, John didn't hesitate to respond, opening his own lips wide and welcoming Greg's questing, stroking tongue. It was only when they broke apart and John looked into Greg's eyes taking in the flush on Greg's cheeks, his heavy breathing and dilated pupils did John's brain kick back into gear. Oh my God. That was Greg. Greg! My mate, my colleague A MAN. Jesus. What was he doing? It only got worse when Greg grinned at him and suggested that they might want to "take it upstairs". John moved backwards so quickly he fell off the sofa spluttering denials and refusals. Greg's face fell. He started mumbling apologies and grabbing his belongings, about to dive out the door. John sighed again. At least he'd convinced Greg that travelling half way across London in the pissing rain at one o'clock in the morning was not a good idea. That everything was "all fine" enough that Greg could kip on the sofa. John rubbed his face with his free hand, he could have handled the whole thing so much better. It wasn't like Greg had been out of line, he'd just mistaken John's slight drunkenness and giggly high from exhaustion and celebration for desire. Because that was what had happened. That was why John had spent the evening looking at Greg for a beat too long, sitting closer than he normally would. It was why John reacted like he did to the kiss instead of pushing Greg away immediately. That was the reason. Wasn't it?

John suddenly realised he was being watched, he turned to the kitchen and saw Sherlock, wrapped in a blanket and quietly observing him. John mentally smacked his head against a wall, he'd been watching Greg sleep for several minutes, with every thought being broadcast across his traitorous face. John raised a finger to Sherlock in warning, walked past him through the kitchen, picked up his bag and coat and walked out the door. Only when he got out of the door to the street did he release the shuddery breath he'd been holding. Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg woke up with a horrendous ache in his neck. He stretched and found his leg brushing up against the arm of a sofa and a blanket twisting itself tight round his chest. He opened his eyes and saw Sherlock placidly regarding him from his stupidly big leather armchair, in the stupidly shiny silk robe. Oh he was in Baker St, Baker St... Oh bollocks. The memories from last night crashed over him in a wave. What an idiot. Stupid stupid stupid. They were having a great matey chat on the sofa. It felt so good, just being around him. Why did he have to go and spoil everything. Of course John wasn't interested, he's straight, Greg had let the alcohol and the atmosphere go to his head and make him see things that weren't there. Greg mentally shook himself, he couldn't keep thinking like this under Sherlock's gaze. He couldn't think of anything he'd rather Sherlock didn't know.

"So, where's the coffee for your guest then?"

"I didn't know you were gay"

Greg sighed. Brilliant, just the conversation he wanted to have. "Well you didn't know I was called Greg till a few months ago. And I'm not gay, I'm bi, which you should have been able to deduce from the ex wife."

"Yes, ex"

"Sherlock I am absolutely not discussing my marriage with you"

"Shall we talk about John instead?"

"There's nothing to talk about"

"You tried to sleep with him"

"I... that's not..." Greg gave up, the subtlety of the situation would be lost on Sherlock. "Yes, yes I did"

"And he said no."

"Well, words to that effect"

"Why?"

"Because he's straight Sherlock, as in attracted to women."

Sherlock smirked "Not exclusively I don't think."

Greg could not believe he was having this conversation. He decided that discretion was the better part of valour and didn't respond, instead stretching, getting up off the sofa, pulling on his t-shirt and making his way to the kitchen. If Sherlock wasn't going to find him some coffee he'd have to do it himself. Sherlock didn't take the hint though, padding after him silently on bare feet.

"I might not have a lot of experience myself but there are some pretty basic visual clues, pupils dilating, increased pulse. John might not think of himself as attracted to men but his body tells a different story."

"Well Sherlock, whatever John's body is telling you he gave me some quite clear messages last night. Now let's drop it. I know you don't care about making me uncomfortable but I can guarantee that John would not want you to be talking to me about this."

Sherlock seemed to consider this for a moment. Greg took the opportunity to dig around for coffee, flip on the kettle and tentatively peek in the fridge, hoping to avoid coming face to face with, well, something with a face.

"Do you want a coffee while I'm making one?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you"

Greg grimaced, but at least he'd closed the conversation down. Sherlock span round, his robe swirling out, and stalked back into the sitting room, letting Greg re-compose himself with the comforting sounds of teaspoons clinking on china and milk gurgling into mugs.


	3. Chapter 3

"Of course Mrs Taylor, no problem, if it flares up again don't hesitate to call and get another appointment" John smiled and nodded the grateful old lady out of the door then leant on the intercom.

"Helen, is the next patient here?"

"No, just got a call, they're not coming, you've got time for a cuppa- shall I bring one in?"

"Oh God Helen, yes please, you're an angel."

John dropped into his chair. He was knackered, and it was only 10.30. Helen pushed the door open and walked over to his desk with a steaming mug of tea and a file under her arm. She handed him the mug and put the file on his desk.

"You've got Mr Marks in ten, he's a frequent flier so I thought I'd bring you the full file."

"Brilliant, you're a star"

"No problem John, I'll buzz you when he gets here."

John leaned back and slipped both hands round his mug of tea. Now Helen, she was who he should have been on the sofa with last night. She was tall and slim, with dark hair and soft brown eyes. John closed his eyes and indulged in a little daydream, imagining leaning over to her, pulling a wine glass from her hands to place it gently on the floor, before taking her chin in his hand and dropping his head down, till his lips and hers were millimetres apart, then closing the gap, soft lips against his, then strong fingers tugging in his hair, the rasp of stubble against his jaw... John's eyes flew open. Greg. How had Greg got into his head, he was thinking of Helen with her deep brown eyes, slim build, dark hair with little flecks of gray... Oh. John carefully placed the tea on the desk, moved Mr Marks notes to one side, then thumped his head once, twice, three times against the top of his desk.

The door flew open and Helen strode in, looking worried, the noise of his head on the desk must have been pretty loud.

"John, are you okay, what's the matter?"

"No, it's nothing, I'm fine. I just... well, I just realised something."

Helen looked puzzled and not a little concerned. John couldn't blame her.

"Oh, okay, well, if you're sure you're all right..."

Helen backed out of the room and left John to his tea, his patient notes and what was beginning to feel a lot like the start of a sexual identity crisis. John waited until he heard her footsteps walk away down the corridor before quietly hitting his head against his desk again. Shit shit shit.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Very excited this is being read and reviewed! Another couple of chapters up today. We're not finished yet_**

* * *

Greg dropped the cup of tea on the table next to Sherlock and returned to he sofa with his coffee. For a moment he wanted to pick another seat, to physically remove himself from his mistake, before he realised that the only other option was John's chair. Just sitting in the man's chair felt offensive after what Greg had put him through last night. So he dropped back down on the sofa, trying to ignore Sherlock's searching gaze, silently interrogating him over the rim of his teacup. They sat in silence for a few moments as they sipped their drinks and Greg slowly started to feel a bit more human. He'd head back to his flat, have a long shower and pretend last night had never happened.

"Why do you find John attractive?"

Greg winced. "I thought we weren't discussing this"

"We aren't discussing you trying to sleep with him. I'm just asking why you wanted to in the first place."

"Why do you care?"

"Humour me."

"Okay fine, I doubt you'll shut up till I do"

Sherlock smirked "Correct"

"Right" Greg sighed a steeled himself "He's strong, muscular, but with a bit of bulk round the middle, I like that, makes me feel less self conscious about my own." Greg rubbed his belly absent mindedly "He fair, with blue eyes, that's normally the type I go for, I don't know why. He's got a really dirty laugh, and a big smile, he's calm and brave and patient. Enough for you?"

Sherlock cocked his head "Interesting, you reference personality traits as well as physical attributes."

"Both of them have an impact on whether I find someone attractive."

"And all of them are the polar opposite of mine."

It was Greg's turn to cock his head "Huh?"

"Your list of attributes, fair hair, blue eyes, calm manner, bulky body. So you would say that I was unattractive?"

Greg gawped at Sherlock, at his full lips and his tousled hair, lithe taut body, those cheekbones...

"Sherlock you must recognise that you're an attractive man. I've seen poor unfortunates trying to catch your eye dozens of times."

"Yes, but not you, you find me unattractive, you just said so"

"Sherlock, you don't desire a checklist. Just because I happen to find blonde men attractive doesn't mean I can't be attracted to men with dark hair too."

"So you are attracted to me?"

Greg suddenly woke up to who he was having this conversation with.

"Where's this going Sherlock? Why do you care if I find you attractive? You don't find me attractive, you're not interested in sex. Do you just want this information in order to blackmail me into giving you more cases?"

"Who said I wasn't interested in sex?"

"I have never known you to go on a date, to even show the slightest interest in anybody. You've never even spoken about the subject. What's with all the interest now?"

"I want to sleep with you."

Greg choked on his coffee.

"Is the idea that offensive?"

Greg was about to laugh but he thought he could see what looked like genuine hurt behind Sherlock's imperious mask.

"No, that's not it at all. But we've known each other for years Sherlock, are you saying that you wanted me all this time? Because I find that hard to believe."

"Don't be so melodramatic. I'm just..." Sherlock paused, he seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

"I'm... intrigued. It's not that I'm incapable of finding people attractive, it's just that I don't normally act on those impulses. After you and John's reactions to what happened last night, it made me think. I want to know why it's so important to people."

"What?"

"Sex"

"You want to have sex with me so you can understand why I wanted to have sex with John, and why John reacted so badly to me wanting to have sex with him?"

"Yes"

"Well, that's romantic."

"Should I have bought you flowers?"

"Okay, romantic was the wrong word. I think what I'm saying is Sherlock that when I want to have sex with someone it's normally because I find them attractive, not because I want to conduct some sort of social experiment."

"I do find you attractive."

"Since when?"

"Since this morning."

"Yeah right, that makes total sense"

Sherlock sighed and stood up. Before Greg realised what was happening Sherlock had untied the belt of his robe, shrugged it off his shoulders and let in pool on the floor. Greg found himself staring at a pair of blue silk boxers pulled tight around what looked like an achingly hard erection.

"Greg" _he never calls me Greg..._ "As you can see I am not unattracted to you, I won't mention it to anyone else, I'm not interested in blackmailing you, I've done this before, though it must be said with less than satisfactory results, so you're not "deflowering" me. Just..."

Sherlock was grasping for words again

"Show me. Show me why you wanted John, how you wanted John..."

Greg sat still for a long minute. This was clearly insane, having sex with Sherlock would be a very poor choice. Especially as part of a warped data gathering exercise that Greg was sure had much more to do with Sherlock's weird relationship with his flatmate than was healthy. But having that smooth, pale body in front of him, Sherlock asking to be taken, the mere thought was making his cock twitch and his mouth water. Greg made a decision. Fuck it. If he wasn't going to get any from the other resident of the flat he may as well take what was being offered, especially when it was so very very pretty...


	5. Chapter 5

John had made it to lunchtime. He was sitting at his desk with a soggy cheese sandwich staring at his phone.

_I should call him, it wasn't his fault, I want to make sure he knows I'm not angry. Because I'm not, I'm... _John rubbed at his scalp, trying to sort through the mess in his head. _I'm, interested. Yes that sounds right. I don't know what I want, I don't know what it means but there's something there... _John smiled. _And Greg, Greg wouldn't judge him, he wouldn't push him. He's a good man, he'll understand _John took an absent-minded bite of his sandwich _But Sherlock, Oh God, what would Sherlock say, what would everyone else say, come to that. Perhaps I could ask Greg to keep it secret, not tell anyone, maybe we could..._John thumped his hand on the desk._ I just thought about closeting myself before I've even decided if I'm gay, or is it bi? How do you know, how do you decide? This is all so complicated, I'm not sure I can..._

The buzzer barked at him.

"Hi John, little Hannah Jones is here a bit early with her mum. She's getting a bit worked up, would you mind seeing her now?"

"No, 'course not, send them in."

"Okay Sherlock, I'm going to go slow..."

"Don't hold back on my account"

Greg leant down and gently bit at Sherlock's neck, causing the younger man to arch up off the bed.

"Yep, I thought so, it's been a while hasn't it?"

Sherlock squirmed as Greg slid a hand slowly down his chest, purposely grazing Sherlock's nipple with his thumb.

"Mmm... Maybe..."

"Okay then"

Greg dropped his his hand to Sherlock's thigh and slid it upwards, making Sherlock shiver. Oh this was good, the normally pushy and domineering Sherlock Holmes shuddering underneath him. This was going to be delicious. Greg leaned down and touched his lips to Sherlock's, wanted to tease Sherlock with a soft light kiss. Suddenly strong hands grabbed his shoulders and flipped him, so he fell on his back onto the bed, then Sherlock was on top of him, straddling his thighs and crushing his lips with a hard heavy kiss. Sherlock thrust his tongue into Greg's mouth and kissed him deeply, aggressively, accompanying each thrust of this tongue with a roll of his hips rubbing their naked cocks together. Just as Greg mentally caught up Sherlock pulled away

"Don't tease me, I'm not a blushing virgin I want you to fuck me. Now. Give it to me."

Greg sat up quickly knocking Sherlock back onto his haunches and then pushing his shoulders down, forcing Sherlock onto his back. Greg grabbed Sherlock's hands in one of his and held them high above Sherlock's head, pulling them just far enough that they would ache a little.

"Woah woah woah. I know you're not a blushing virgin, but between us who here do you think has the most experience?"

Sherlock struggled under Greg's grasp, trying to free himself. Greg grabbed Sherlock's cock tightly with his free hand and started pumping it, slowly. Sherlock groaned.

"What did you say?" Greg grinned, timing his words with his long pulls on Sherlock's hot and heavy prick "I... can't... hear... you." On his last stroke down Greg stilled his hand, holding Sherlock's cock tightly at the base. Sherlock moaned.

"You Greg, you, don't stop! Don't stop"

Greg almost obeyed, Almost started fisting his hand faster and faster, just to hear him beg, just to watch Sherlock lose control completely and come all over his hand. But Greg knew better than that.

"Then let me tell you, it will be better if you slow down. You want to understand? Then we have to do this properly. I want you covered in sweat, I want to taste the desire on you. I want you shaking. When I fuck you you will be aching for it, desperate for my cock inside you and I promise you will come so hard you'll be seeing stars. We do this my way, or we don't do it at all"

Sherlock's eyes had grown steadily wider as Greg's speech went on. "Okay..." he breathed

"Good".


	6. Chapter 6

John almost skipped home. He'd managed to convince a colleague to come in an hour early, he could barely keep still with his last few patients. He was going to do it. He was going to see if, even after embarrassing the poor man half to death last night, he could convince Greg that he'd changed his mind. Because who cares what label you use or don't use. That kiss was amazing. He wanted more. And it was Greg, so smart, self-effacing, funny. He'd been such an antidote to Sherlock and such a good friend to John. He didn't just want to sleep with him. He wanted to be with him. Date him. He wanted to sit with him in front of the TV and laugh at a stupid movie and snog like teenagers.

John grinned to himself as he headed up the stairs to the flat, so wrapped up in his own internal monologue that he didn't hear the noises until he opened the flat door. It sounded like... but Sherlock wouldn't be... Sherlock didn't...

"Oh God, Greg let me come!"

"No, not yet..."

John felt his stomach drop away, those two voices, so familiar but so different to how he'd heard them ever before. Sherlock was almost whining, his normally deep baritone high with need, and Greg's voice was a deep, growling command. John would have dropped to his knees with a word if Greg told him to in that voice.

He kept walking, on autopilot, towards Sherlock's bedroom, the door was ajar a little, the two men clearly weren't expecting to be interrupted. John slid along one side of the corridor so he couldn't be seen and carefully looked through the small gap. What he saw took his breath away. Sherlock was on his back, his leg's spread wide and hands gripping hard on the bedframe as Greg pounded into him. Greg was gripping Sherlock's hips with both hands, holding him still so he could thrust deep and hard into Sherlock. They were both covered in a fine film of sweat, each muscle on their bodies in sharp relief, taut and shaking with need. John found his hand palming at his cock through his trousers, God he was rock hard and aching already. He'd gone from straight vanilla John Watson to a gay voyeur in less that 24 hours. That was wrong and twisted and so very fucking hot at the same time.

"Greg, oh God!"

"Tell me what you want Sherlock"

"I want... I want..."

Greg growled. "Tell me, tell me or you don't get it."

"I want you to touch me, I want your hand on my cock, I want to come."

John could imagine Greg's grin rather than see it. John surrendered to the inevitable and popped the button on his trousers to wrap his hand round his hot, hard cock, already dotting his boxers with pre come.

"Then beg for it."

"What?"

"You heard what I said..."

Greg slowed his thrusts right down.

"Beg for it. Beg me to let you come."

"No!"

"Why so shy Sherlock, you know you want to."

Greg leaned over Sherlock, his belly rubbing against Sherlock's cock, giving him the friction he craved, but clearly not enough if Sherlock's groans were anything to go by. Greg dropped his mouth to Sherlock's ear, John might not have heard if he hadn't been so close, so close to both of them.

"Because you know what, I don't even think you need my hand on your prick to get you off, you're so close already aren't you, I think that you could come with just me coming in your arse." John gasped and started fisting his cock faster and tighter "I think you could, I know just how to make you, you just have to say please."

Sherlock made a noise that was almost a scream "Please! Please please please! Please come inside me, fill me Greg, please, let me come."

This time Greg moaned and leant back, adjusting the angle, speeding up this thrusts and adding a roll to his hips that was clearly hitting Sherlock's prostate dead on every time.

"Oh God Sherlock, yes, oh I love you like this begging, aching needing me... tell me what you want."

"I want to feel you come inside me, please, please..."

"Oh yes, yes you do don't you, that's so good, you're so hot, fuck Sherlock I'm going to come, I'm going to fill you, come for me!" Greg thrust once more deep inside Sherlock then threw his head back and roared, Sherlock screamed underneath him, shooting thick white ropes of come all over Greg's chest and John came with a shudder all over his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

After a few shuddery moments Greg slid back out of Sherlock slowly, feeling the other man shake underneath him as he did so. Greg just about mustered the energy to move to Sherlock's left before collapsing on the bed underneath him. After that speech he gave there was clearly no way he could get away with anything other than a bravura performance and he'd spent an age and a huge amount of energy taking Sherlock to the edge and then holding him back, again and again. If the noises Sherlock had been making were any indication his efforts had not been wasted. He looked at Sherlock, still on his back with his legs flopped open, mouth red and sore, hair sticking up at crazy angles. He looked incredibly well fucked. Which was appropriate.

"Your smugness is audible from here"

"Was that a complaint?"

"No, far from it. That was more than satisfactory"

Greg grunted a laugh "Well, you certainly know how to stroke a man's ego."

"You certainly know how to stroke other things."

Greg groaned "Sherlock... Really?"

"I'm trying my best, humour isn't my specialism."

"You don't say."

"What do we do now then?"

"What?"

"What's the social etiquette? Do we kiss, do I make you breakfast? Please don't tell me we have to snuggle."

Greg laughed. "Don't worry about it Sherlock, I think we're past the realms of etiquette now. I just need a lie down for a few minutes then I'll probably be on my way. I can't spend the day in bed with you."

"Pity. But you're right. John will be home soon"

Greg jumped up "Soon? When?"

"Well he was on the early shift so he's normally home by two or so."

Greg grabbed his watch, he still had about three quarters of an hour.

"In which case I'm going to prioritise a shower. I can't go anywhere looking, or smelling, like this."

"Like me you mean."

Greg leant down and licked a stripe up Sherlock's neck "Yes, like you, and sex. People will talk."

"They do little else." Sherlock grabbed Greg's wrist. "I liked that."

Greg grinned "I thought you did."

"Let's do it again."

"Sherlock I can barely move, And John's about to get home."

"Not now idiot, I doubt your recovery time is that good. In the future, more than once."

Greg thought for a moment. If sleeping with Sherlock once was a bad idea imagine what doing it on a regular basis would be like. But as the Rolling Stones nearly said, you can't always get what you want, but sometimes at least you get to shag his flatmate...

"That sounds" Greg bit Sherlock's ear "like a very" Greg playfully tweaked a nipple "fun idea" Greg leant down and kissed Sherlock deeply.

"But right now I need a shower"

Sherlock smiled, mollified, and pulled the duvet up over his head.


	8. Chapter 8

John sat staring at the now cold cup of tea in his hands. After the incident... well after he'd see..., fine fine fine after he'd come all over his hand he'd dived back down the corridor, quickly washed his hands in the kitchen sink and then thrown himself out of the flat and down towards the cafe round the corner to wait until his normal arrival time back from the surgery. He'd been sitting there for half an hour and so far hadn't even come close to processing what he'd seen. All he could do was keep replaying it in his head. He kept coming back, of all things, to Greg's hands on Sherlock's hips, strong tanned fingers digging into soft creamy white flesh.

One question he kept coming back to was whether it was it a one off? He didn't think it had happened before, Sherlock had no boundaries about things like this and he wouldn't have though Greg would make a move on him if he were sleeping with Sherlock. But was it going to happen again? Was it just sex or the start of a relationship? John couldn't imagine Sherlock being anybody's boyfriend but if he was capable of it with anyone it would have to be someone like Greg who, whatever Sherlock said, he respected and whose opinion he valued. He certainly couldn't imagine Sherlock succumb to mere bodily urges, there had to be something more to it. John felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. What if they did start seeing each other? What if he'd have to sit like a lemon on his chair while they curled up on the sofa and watched movies? John remembered who he was talking about and chuckled to himself, whatever happened he couldn't imagine Sherlock cuddling on the sofa. But even given Sherlock's less than conventional social styles having to watch them together as a couple would be excruciating. If he'd only been braver, if he's only come to his senses and seen what a great offer he'd been made. John sighed and looked at his watch. It was time to go home.


	9. Chapter 9

John opened the flat door to see Sherlock laid out on the sofa, one hand thrown behind his head and the other trailing on the floor. John wasn't sure what he would have thought if he hadn't seen with his own eyes earlier but right now it looked obvious what he and Geg had been doing. Sherlock was stretching and gently wriggling like a cat in a sunbeam, looking more relaxed that John had ever seen him and almost as pleased with himself as he did when solving a particularly brilliant murder.

John dropped his keys down on the kitchen table.

"Good day then?"

"Oh yes, after you left Lestrade and I had sex. For hours. He's very good."

Even after living with him for months now Sherlock could still shock John into silence with his disregard for any level of basic politeness. John goldfished in silence for a few long seconds, grasping the enormity of Sherlock's social malfunctioning, before he could speak again.

"Sherlock I really don't need to know."

"But I thought you'd be interested? After last night..."

John held his hand to stop him.

"No Sherlock, whatever you think happened didn't happen."

Sherlock looked perplexed. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it. John was about to call him on it but then realised that if even Sherlock didn't think what he was about to say was appropriate he really didn't want to hear it. John went back into the kitchen and started mechanically making tea. Well, at least he wasn't going to have to lie and pretend he didn't know they'd had sex. That was good right? John flipped the kettle on and reached up to grab the teabags. Also, the good thing about a lack of social niceties, he remembered, was that it cut both ways.

After a few minutes he walked back into the living room to find Sherlock hadn't moved. Still basking in the residual hormones flowing around his body. John put the tea by Sherlock's trailing hand and sat down in his seat. He squirmed in his chair for a few minutes trying to get comfortable, then picked up the oncology magazine he'd been reading from the floor and idly paged through it. He picked up his tea (just the right temperature now) and sipped it slowly watching Sherlock. Then grabbed his laptop and started booting it up, before abandoning it on the floor.

"What?"

"Huh?"

"Whatever it is you're not saying."

"What do you mean whatever..."

"Oh for God's sake John, you've been on the verge of saying something for the last fifteen minutes. I can hear it, it's distracting. What is it?"

"It's nothing."

Sherlock gave a dramatic sigh

"Fine, it's just, I was wondering... do you think you and Greg... erm..."

"Erm what John?"

"I just mean, was it just a one night thing?"

"It was in the afternoon"

"I know I know, I don't mean that, I mean... was it just, you know, as friends, for stress relief?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow "I'm friends with you John and I don't sleep with you"

"I just mean do you think you're going to be seeing him again?"

"I see him all the time at crime scenes..."

"You're being deliberately obtuse!"

"No I'm not! Just ask what you want to ask!"

John groaned "Fine, Sherlock, do you think you will be having sex with Greg again, in the future."

Sherlock grinned "Oh I do think so..."

He tipped his head back onto the sofa cushion and closed his eyes. "Regularly, I hope."

Well, that was it then. John looked at Sherlock sprawled out on the sofa. No matter the revelations of the past two days he wasn't attracted to Sherlock (how could anyone that arrogant be attractive...) but he knew that Sherlock was good looking. Gorgeous even. The pale skin and the dark hair, his tall, slim body. John looked down at his slightly pudgy waist despairingly then back up to Sherlock's razor sharp cheekbones and rich pink lips. If Greg had Sherlock Holmes on a plate what possible interest could he have in ordinary looking little John Watson. Even if he hadn't already turned him down flat. He'd just have to forget about it.

"John?"

"What?"

"You're staring..."

"Sorry! Sorry, I was thinking about something else"

"About Greg?"

"What? No, why would I be?"

Sherlock paused. Even he, with his limited knowledge and, to be frank, interest, in social conventions agreed with Greg that the discussion they had had about Greg and John's contretemps last night would be seen as "a bit not good" by the very private John. But John was making it so hard. He could almost feel John imagining Greg's hands all over him, his flesh tickled under the scrutiny. But what could he say? John had denied that anything had happened last night. Perhaps the direct approach would work.

"I could tell you what he did if you like?"

"Jesus, Sherlock, no thank you."

Right, the direct approach clearly not yielding positive results. Perhaps he could appeal to John's desire to make other's happy.

"But John I want to tell you."

"Don't care, way more information than I need. Go on Loose Women or something"

Sherlock was concerned he was getting out of his conversational depth here. He was pretty sure there was at least one cultural reference in there he'd missed, which could be vital, and John was getting more and more annoyed. His time with Greg this afternoon had certainly been enlightening but he still didn't understand why sex made everyone so, well, angry. John was annoyed with Greg for trying to sleep with him (even though John wanted to), Greg was annoyed that John didn't want to sleep with him (even though Sherlock had explained it wasn't true), they were both annoyed at Sherlock for just talking about it. Why was something so fun so complicated? Whatever the cause, he didn't want to upset John. He tried to steer back to safer ground.

"Well the offers always there..."

"That's it, I'm going to my room."

Sherlock looked after John as the door slam and thumping steps shook the house. Clearly he needed to study the phenomenon further.

Text SH to GL: Further data req'd. Suggest Thursday 8pm? Have been conducting desk based research and would like to confirm with practical experiment.

Text GL to SH: Is that you talking dirty? Because it sort of works for you.

Text SH to GL: Irrelevant. Meet at yours. I have sourced supplies.

Text: GL To SH: Dear God Sherlock, what you do to me. Yes, Thursday at 8, see you then.


	10. Chapter 10

John puffed out his cheeks and groaned.

"38, 39, 40..."

If the army had taught him anything it was that enough physical exertion could normally drown out anything your brain was trying to say.

He straightened his arms with effort, locking his elbows, before before bending them again and dropping down back to the carpet. He was going to do 50 press ups. He could always do it before. His triceps seemed to be disagreeing though. He collapsed on the floor panting, before pulling himself up. He'd failed on his target for the sit ups and crunches too. He was getting too old for this.

He stripped off his t shirt to join his trousers on the floor. He was getting a good sweat up now.

He reached under the bed and pulled out his weights. Right, 20 bicep curls on each arm. He watched himself in the mirror, trying to make sure he got his technique right. His muscles were tightened with the exertion and shining. _Just like their had been... just downstairs... Damn it, focus..._

He concentrated on keeping control though each descent, breathing into the strain as he pulled his arm up, grimacing with the effort _just like Greg's face when he was trying to hold off coming... No, not going to think about it_. John switched hands and started again. His right hands was weaker than his left and he had to focus on holding the weight so he didn't strain his wrist. He watched his fingers, shifting them to align them, knuckles white with the effort _just like Greg's, holding onto Sherlock, Oh fuck fuck fuck._

John gave in, put down the weight and threw himself down onto the bed. If he was going to be imagining sex anyway he may as well be in it.

He slid his hand into his black boxers and pulled out his cock, starting to stroke himself slowly. He remembered the kiss Greg and he had shared on the sofa, it was so good. All heat and shaking desire. He imagined Greg pulling back, not asking for permission, but moving his hand to John's shirt and starting to undo the buttons, to allow Greg to suck at John's neck. John would reach out and push his fingers into that soft hair and slide his other hand down Greg's waist, feeling hot muscle shiver as he touched it.

Greg groaned in response and, pushing John's shirt aside, straddled John's lap, pulling off his T-shirt as he did so. John reached up to stroke Greg's chest put found his wrists caught in Greg's hands and forced down to his side. John gasped at the submission, oh, that's new, and Greg took the opportunity to start grinding down, rubbing their cocks against each other through the fabric of their jeans. He roughly crashed his lips down onto John's and forced his tongue between John's lips, stroking and licking in time with the roll and snap of his hips.

After what seemed like years Greg tore himself away to open John and his own jeans. With Greg's hands no longer holding his own down John reached up to trace every line and shadow of Greg's chest and neck, rubbing a thumb over Greg's hard nipples. Oh God that was good, why was that good? Greg growled and grabbed John's hands again, this time using one hand to grab both wrists and press them against John's chest, keeping them still. Then Greg looked into John's eyes. John suddenly forgot to breath, those eyes, soft and dark and deep, oh yes, yes please. Whatever you'll give me. Greg didn't break eye contact as he raised his free hand to his face and licked it slowly from the base of the palm to the tips of the fingers. Once, twice, three times. Then Greg reached down and grabbed their cocks in his hand. They both groaned, it wasn't going to take long. Greg had barely needed to get any wetness on his hand as they'd both been leaking precome copiously. Greg pulled at them tight and slowly at first, pausing to run his thumb over John's slit and make the other man shake. But soon Greg was losing all control, tugging harshly at their pricks and he desperately started groaning John's name. "Oh God John, yes yes yes, I'm going to come, I'm going to come all over you, Oh God, JohnJohnJohnJohn..."

"Greg!" John arched up feeling each pulse of his orgasm shaking through his body, feeling Greg shuddering above him and Greg's come spatter his chest, hot and dirty and glorious.

John opened his eyes. He hoped he hadn't been too loud. He let go of his softening prick and reached to the tissues to clean himself up. Oh God. It was his eyes and his voice that had done it. This was all sorts of bad.

He pulled his boxers back up and stood, turning back towards the mirror. Right, 20 bicep curls. He was going to do it this time.


	11. Chapter 11

"Handcuffs, really?"

"What's wrong with handcuffs?"

"Sherlock, what do I do for a living?"

"You're a Detective Inspector, when was the last time you actually handcuffed anyone?"

"Nevertheless, no handcuffs"

Sherlock huffed. "Fine."

Greg grinned as Sherlock leaned back and dived into his bag of tricks. Like everything else, Sherlock had gone about his new hobby with gusto and apparently no spending limit. Sherlock had arrived at eight prompt and had pushed Greg into his bedroom, stripped their clothes off and pushed Greg down onto his back on the bed before sitting on top of Greg's thighs. After some surprisingly languid kissing and stroking (perhaps Greg had taught Sherlock the value of waiting after all) Sherlock, with a huge dirty grin on his face, had reached down to the floor to pick up a heavy satchel and had dumped it on Greg's chest.

From it had appeared the contents of a soho sex shop: vibrators, plugs, restraints, some particularly viscous looking nipple clamps which Greg had vetoed immediately (each to their own but sharp things anywhere near his naked body just made him nervous, particularly with Sherlock wielding them...) and the goodies just kept on coming. It was the Fortnum and Mason bag that Greg had been the most enthusiastic about, imagining how all the luxury food would taste smeared over Sherlock, though as soon as Sherlock had seen Greg's face light up he quickly hid the bag behind him and carried on digging through his array of plastic, leather and occasionally questionably feathery toys.

"Ah, maybe this then..."

Sherlock was holding a simple strip of wide silk in a relatively tasteful dark red. He held the two ends together and used them like a brush sweeping a long line down Greg's body from his collar bone to his navel. Greg groaned and arched up.

"Really?"

"Ahh, yes, really. That feels amazing."

Sherlock was intrigued, how could something so soft provide any proper stimulation whatsoever. He tentatively stroked the end of the silk down his own chest, it felt nice certainly but not particularly exciting...

"Oh fuck"

Sherlock looked down at Greg's whose eyes were fixed on the silk stroking down Sherlock's chest, and whose breathing had suddenly become heavier. Sherlock looked down. Greg had been half hard through the show and tell session with the toys but now his cock was fully erect and giving little twitches as the silk slid over Sherlock's chest. Sherlock felt himself shudder, the soft slide of the silk suddenly making his skin tingle.

Greg would have laughed if he had been able to breathe properly as Sherlocks mouth formed a perfect "Oh". Dear God he was just working out that being watched makes it different. Sherlock had clearly moved on quickly from this revelation and had grabbed Greg's hand and tied it to the headboard with the silk, retrieving similar lengths from the bag for his other limbs, leaving Greg spreadeagled on his back. Greg pulled against the silk, it felt delicious twisting round his skin.

"According to the sites I've been visiting we should have a safeword. How about Andromeda?"

Greg rolled his eyes. "Let's just stick with "no" shall we, easier to remember"

"No style whatsoever..."

Sherlock reached behind him and pulled out the Fortnum and Mason bag. Greg watched as clever pale fingers teased open a ribboned box "Close your eyes"

Greg did so, he could smell the chocolate from here anyway, rich and deep. He felt Sherlock lean over him and press a chocolate to his mouth with his own. Greg swiped his tongue against the chocolate and felt Sherlock's teeth holding onto the shell then... _ohmygodfuckfuckfuck..._ Greg groaned as the pressure of Sherlock's teeth split the shell, filling Greg's mouth with liquid salted caramel and Sherlock plunged his tongue into Greg's mouth, lapping and sucking, Greg could feel some of the caramel dribble down his cheek. Suddenly Sherlock's mouth was gone and long fingers were running over his lips before being pulled away. An obscene sucking sound "Mmmm... that's good, it tastes different off you. Let me see..."

Greg heard the snap of another chocolate shell then a sticky drip onto his stomach, the caramel pooling just below his navel, settling into the soft hair on his stomach. Then he felt Sherlocks tongue dragging against it, snagging and pulling at the caramel.

"Sherlock, you're a natural..."

Greg could feel the smugness radiaiting off the man sitting astride him. "Of course, open your yes."

Greg's eyes fluttered open and Sherlock grinned. Greg watched as Sherlock pulled his fingers through the remaining caramel on Gregs stomach then pushed his fingers into Greg's mouth..._ Oh yes, that tasted good, and the feeling of Sherlock's fingers pushing into his mouth..._

Sherlock pulled his fingers out and Greg looked up at him. Sherlock was breathing heavily "Greg, I want to... I don't know if..."

"Just ask sherlock, I might say no but I won't judge you."

"I want to fuck your mouth"

Greg swallowed. "Yes please..."

Greg watched as Sherlock slicked up his straining cock with what looked like very expensive chocolate sauce and then slowly, inexorably, pushed it deep into Greg's throat. Sherlock looked down in wonder as Greg's face stretching round him, chocolate round his mouth and his eyes closed tight in concentration. The visual was almost as arousing as the hot tight heat round his prick and the feeling of Greg's tongue lapping at him each time he pulled back. But there was something else...

"Open your eyes, look at me" Greg shivered and opened his eyes, Sherlock's were burning into him, the lust, the possession in them was thrilling. Greg couldn't drag his eyes away, couldn't break the connection. He felt Sherlock's hands tighten round his head and his thrusts start to push deeper, harder down Greg's throat. God Greg hadn't felt this owned for a long time. Sherlock shuddered and finally closed his eyes, throwing his head back and coming, salty and thick down Greg's throat.

The next week they were at a crime scene. Some industrial arson, luckily no-one had been hurt but if the security guard hadn't nipped down the road for a sneaky midnight snack...

"Tedious"

"Fine then Sherlock, fine, just tell Anderson how you worked it out then you're free to go home, as you please."

"Oh Detective" Sherlock smirked "why so tetchy? Is your blood sugar low? Here have one of these."

Greg turned and saw Sherlock hold out to him a small box, inside were those small spherical chocolates they'd been enjoying. Greg blushed furiously, all he could think about when he looked at them, hell just smelled them, was Sherlock's cock, hot and heavy and veined... stretching his face, filling him... using him... he caught Sherlocks eye. Not good. Not at all good.

Greg stuttered.. "N..n..n...no. No Sherlock, thank you."

"Hmm, shame. John, one for you?"

_Oh no, please don't you can't..._

Greg watched as John picked up a chocolate and pushed it into his mouth

_Guh._

"Oh Sherlock that's bloody gorgeous... another?"

"Of course..."

It took Sherlock another fifteen minutes to get all the evidence he needed and in that time John ate four more chocolates. Four! Four times Greg watched as the hard shell disappeared between Johns lips, four times he had to watch the glorious, delirious, decadent look on John's face as he bit down, four times he had the most vivid sense memory of something sticky and salty and gorgeous exploding down his throat...

Sherlock Holmes was, officially, a bastard.


	12. Chapter 12

John was bored.

He'd only been at the conference for a half a day- he still had the rest of the afternoon to go. In fairness the speakers were interesting and he was learning a lot but the hanging around was driving him mad. He started flicking through the contacts in his phone as he poked at the sad canteen salad he had ordered for his lunch. He could text Sherlock, but he'd likely not be interested in hearing about Dr Barnett's slideshow. There was always Harry but given it was a Monday at noon she'd be at work. He stared at Greg's name for a long time. Before all this had happened he might have rung him. Just to chat. But now...

"I'm sorry, this probably sounds ridiculous, but have we met before?"

John looked up at the source of the soft scottish brogue. The man did look familiar, perhaps in his late 30s, fair and slim with twinkling blue eyes behind square glasses.

"My name's David McDonald, I work in paediatrics at Barts."

It fell into place. "Oh right. John, John Watson. I don't think we've actually met but I've seen you at Barts a few times."

"Oh I'm so sorry, do you work there too? How embarrassing not to recognise a colleague..."

"No I don't work there. I just... well... I sometimes help on some police investigations so I end up in the morgue there quite a bit"

"Oh, interesting, you're a police pathologist."

"No, not exactly. It's a bit difficult to explain."

"Sounds much more interesting than reading the lunch menu again. May I?"

"Of course"

John looked at David as he sat down. It was a nice feeling, someone being interested in him. It wasn't going to last though.

"Well, have you heard of Sherlock Holmes?"

"Of course... oh you're _that_ John Watson."

"Yes that's right."

John braced himself for the barrage of Sherlock related questions. "What's it like to work with him?" "Is he really that smart?" or the occasional "Is he single?"

"So you were in Afghanistan? I was there myself for a while with Medicins San Frontiers, in Jalalabad. Where were you?"

"Mainly near Kandahar."

"I have to say I couldn't do what you did. I was terrified enough being in the hospital there let alone going out into the front line."

"Looking after those poor kids though, I saw some of the damage IEDs could do to full grown men let alone children..."

And so they went on. The conversation turned mercifully quickly to other topics (it turned out David vaguely knew Sarah when they were junior doctors and was a keen rugby fan) and they were soon chatting like old friends. John couldn't quite believe it. David had barely batted an eyelid at Sherlock's name. The salad sat untouched for the next twenty minutes as John repeatedly picked up the fork but was too busy responding to David's questions to get it full of food and to his mouth.

In a rare pause David glanced at his watch "Oh, look at the time, we'll be late for the afternoon session. Which one are you going to?"

John looked round. Without him noticing the canteen had emptied, leaving him and David the last at their seats.

"I was going to go to Dr. Hopkinson."

"Oh great, me too."

They snuck into the back of the lecture theatre just after the talk had started, earning them some huffs and stern looks. They grinned at each other and shuffled into the back row.

It turned out they were in the same sessions all afternoon. They chatted to each other in the coffee breaks, swapping stories from their junior doctor days, their favourite films and the irritations of London public transport. At the end of the final session David suggested some dinner at a place he knew round the corner and John readily agreed. It had been a long afternoon and he was starving. Taking in all the information about so may topics, geriatrics, oncology, diseases of the liver... John felt a tug in his mind. Something wasn't adding up. It wasn't until he and David had sat down and ordered their food at the little neighbourhood italian that David had suggested that John realised what it was.

"David?"

"Mmm? Oh this garlic bread is always so good..."

"You said you work in paediatrics?"

"Yes?"

"So why did you go to Dr Rosenbergs lecture? Or Doctor Stephan's come to that? I can't imagine many eight year olds get arthritis or have alcohol related liver disease?"

David blushed and looked down.

"Sorry, I've not been very subtle have I? I thought if we kept talking you'd be more likely to say yes when I asked you out for dinner..."

John's eyebrows jumped up to his hairline. "What?"

David's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh I'm so sorry. I read it totally wrong. You're probably not even gay are you? Listen, forget about it. We'll just have a pizza as friends, colleagues, right? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

John blinked. So David had been flirting with him? Looking back it seemed obvious, certainly John knew his jokes weren't that funny but David had laughed at all of them anyway.

David looked acutely embarrassed, poking at the garlic bread on his plate. John wanted to say something but what could he say? Looking at him properly now David was very good looking, he was funny and interesting and easy to talk to. But he was a proper (John couldn't think of a better word) gay man whereas John had only just worked out that he might be Bi. David would want a relationship everything that went with it. John had no idea if he was ready for that. He took a deep breath and looked down, he wasn't sure he could look at David while he said this.

"David, you didn't read it wrong. But this... this is something I've only just started working out that I want. Really just in the last few weeks. You're great and I've really enjoyed spending time with you but, I wouldn't want to..." John struggled for the words "deceive you I suppose. I'm not sure what I want, or what I'm ready for. I wouldn't want you to... to waste your time."

John sighed. At least he'd been as truthful as he could. He'd only known David a few hours but he got the he'd respect that. He looked up, ready for the look of disappointment, or worse, sympathy. But David was smiling, nervously, but at least smiling.

"John, I'm sure an evening with you wouldn't be a waste of time on any terms. How about for tonight we just eat some pizza? If you're willing, maybe we can go on a date next week? We can go as slow as you like. I'm in no rush."

John couldn't quite take it in. After hearing how woefully unprepared he was for this David still wanted to go out with him? That was even more bizarre than him laughing at his jokes.

"I think I'd like that."

"Good, now I really would recommend eating the garlic bread while it's still warm. I've been coming here for years. The owner met my cousin when..."

And just like that, they were off again. One topic to the next. All awkwardness forgotten. By the time they'd finished the tiramisu John's sides ached with laughing. David walked with him to the main road and stood with John while he waited for a cab.

"So, how did I do? Did I convince you?"

"Convince me to what?"

"Go out with me next week."

John smiled. There it was again. That warm feeling of someone being interested in him, wanting to impress him, not Sherlock.

"I should say so, I haven't had that much fun in ages."

A cab drew up and John pulled open the door. He turned to say goodbye to David and found the man right up in his personal space. John was terrified for a moment that he was going to go in for a kiss, after everything they'd spoken about. But David just reached out his hand and took John's in a friendly handshake.

"Great, I'll look forward to it. Have a good night John."

"Yeah, you too."

John smiled as he settled into the cab seat, watching David wave him off. For something that wasn't a date, it felt like the best date he'd had in a long time...


	13. Chapter 13

_Blue shirt, or the white one, or I could go for a t-shirt... No, a shirt, maybe the checked one?_

"You're going on a date."

"Sherlock we have this little custom called privacy. I'm trying to get dressed, get out of my room."

"Go for the blue one, it matches your eyes. What's her name?"

"Can I not have five minutes peace?"

"Why so secretive? You normally won't shut up about the women you're trying to sleep with. What's different about her?"

John grimaced. Sherlock was bound to find out anyway. Maybe it would be better to get it over with.

"He's called David."

"He!" Sherlock practically crowed. "I said so didn't I, I said you were attracted to men and I was right!"

"Yes yes yes, you were right, fine. Now leave me alone."

"Where are you going."

"Just to the pub."

"Okay, how long will you be?"

"I don't know Sherlock, does it matter?"

"Well, I was going to see if Greg was free."

Ah yes, Greg. They'd been very considerate. Well, John supposed it was Greg who had been considerate and Sherlock had gone along with it. They only ever met at Baker Street when John wasn't there, otherwise they'd go to Greg's flat. John and Greg were comfortable being around each other at crime scenes now but the one time John had walked into the flat to find Greg in Sherlock's gown making a cup of tea (John hadn't been due home 'till the afternoon) was still one of the most singularly embarrassing moments of John's life. They'd attempted to speak to each other for a few seconds but John had had to quickly "remember" about something he needed to pick up from the post office and had beaten a hasty retreat. By the time he'd returned with his six stamps Greg had gone. Still, he couldn't keep on like this. It didn't seem like Sherlock and Greg's relationship was going to be over anytime soon and John needed to get used to the idea of Greg as Sherlock's boyfriend.

"It's fine Sherlock, I don't mind. Invite him over."

"Really?"

"Yes really. Now get out of my room."

Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned to go.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock turned back.

"Hmmm?"

"Don't tell Greg."

"Don't tell Greg what?"

"That I'm going on a date with David."

"Why not?"

John could barely explain it himself. But as soon as he'd thought about the idea he'd panicked. It was something to do with not wanting Greg to think he'd been lying to him, but was also about not wanting Greg think that John found other men attractive but not him. When the opposite was true, it was Greg that had first made him think like this, first made him see just how attractive men could be, how exciting... John shook his head. No, not going down that road again.

"I can't explain Sherlock, it's difficult. I'll tell him myself, just not right now okay?"

Sherlock shrugged. Yet another aspect of the social interactions around sex that didn't make any sense. John wanted to sleep with Greg, but told Greg he didn't. But now he didn't want Greg to think he was sleeping with someone else. Odd.

"Fine, I won't tell him."

John sighed in relief. "Thank you."

...

David had certainly picked a good spot to meet. The pub was traditional, all dark wood and lots of bitters and ales on tap, but on the edge of Soho. The crowd was a mix of young and old, gay and straight. The sort of place where no-one was going to be sticking their hands down each others leather trousers but no-one was going to bat an eyelid at two guys on a date.

David was in the middle of a story about chasing down an escapee eight year old who didn't want an injection. He was shaking with laughter at the memory, eyes shining and hands expressively waving all over the place to get his point across. John was struck again by how good looking he was. He'd noticed it before clearly but now he was on an official date with the man he couldn't help thinking how lucky he'd been to catch his eye. David was slim, but not skinny, with soft blond hair and a light dusting of freckles over his nose. Hie eyes were a bright, light blue and his lips were thin but beautifully pink. John found himself licking his lips.

"Hello?"

"Huh? Oh sorry, I was in a world of my own..."

"Yeah, I could tell..."

David was looking straight at him, eyes bright.

"John, this is the point on a date where I might normally try for a kiss. How would you feel about that?"

John grinned and leaned towards him. The kiss was short and chaste, a quick press of the lips, but it made John tingle all over. Their hands had met under the table and when David pulled away John kept hold of David's right hand.

"Thank you for asking first, I appreciate it."

"No problem. Thank you for agreeing."

For a moment they just grinned at each other. John felt like he was fourteen again, to be so excited by a quick peck and holding hands under the table. It was brilliant. Then suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he saw something, well someone, that made his stomach churn.

...

Greg pulled his phone from his pocket.

SH to GL: Free tonight?

Much as he'd enjoy seeing if he could get Sherlock back for the chocolate incident it would have to wait.

GL to SH: Can't, busy tonight. Next week?

SH to GL: Fine.

Greg looked round the bar for Tom Dimmock. They'd arrange to meet about fifteen minutes ago but the other man was always late.

"Hey Greg!"

"Hey Tom, what can I get you?"

"Pint of whatever's good."

Greg paid for the drinks and he and Tom started to walk towards the back of the pub where he knew there was some seating round the corner that was generally a bit quieter. He saw a couple, hands held together under the table sharing a kiss. It made Greg a little jealous. He was getting sex but he hadn't been on a date in months, he missed the tenderness you got with an actual relationship.

The couple pulled apart and Greg's jaw nearly hit the floor. It was John. John "three continents" Watson- the straightest man on God's green earth, who had turned Greg down flat. And he was with a man so stunning Greg could barely process it, with fair hair and a trim waist and a leading man jawline. They were grinning at each other inanely, wrapped up in their own world. Greg panicked and tried to find somewhere else to go but he was trapped. Then the inevitable happened. John caught his eye.

"Hey isn't that John?" Dimmock waved "Hey John" Greg followed Tom as he walked over to the table where John and the other man were sitting. John looked like a rabbit in the headlights. "Heya John, good to see you. I haven't seen you around since that strangulation in Bow."

"Yeah, erm, good to see you Tom. Hi Greg."

"Hi John."

Greg looked at John, he had no idea what to say. He was aware that the silence was getting longer and that Tom and the mystery man were looking a little confused but he couldn't open his mouth. Finally John broke the silence.

"Oh, I'm sorry, introductions, David- this is Greg Lestrade and this is Tom Dimmock- they both work for the Met, I know them from the work I'm doing with Sherlock. This is David McDonald, I... we met a conference, he works at Barts."

Greg held out his hand. "Good to meet you."

David grasped his hand and shook it, eyeing him shrewdly. There was no malice in it, but Greg got the impression that David was not just a pretty face...

Tom it seemed, had finally caught up with the fact they might have been interrupting something. "We should probably head off, good to see you John, we should all go out for a drink sometime soon, though maybe leave the flatmate at home."

"Yeah sure Tom, that sounds good, see you both later."

As they walked away Greg's mind was racing. So John was interested in men. Why had he said he wasn't then? He'd been quite clear that night that while it was "all fine" it wasn't something he was interested in.

"Greg are you listening?"

"Huh? Sorry, what?"

"I just said that I didn't know John was gay."

"No, neither did I."


	14. Chapter 14

David was very, very smart. It was one of the things that John found so attractive about him. He couldn't help wishing though, in this particular situation, that David would be a bit slower on the uptake.

He looked away from the retreating figures of Greg and Tom and found David looking at him with a smile but a very quizzical look on his face.

"So, Greg..."

John sighed. "Yes..."

"It seems like there's some history there?"

"Yes, you could say that."

"Which is odd since when we went for dinner you said that you'd only just started thinking about men this way."

"It's a bit complicated. But I was telling the truth."

David looked him in the eye. John squirmed. This was not good first date territory.

"John, this is our first date. You don't owe me any explanations. If you can look me in the eye and tell me there's nothing for me to worry about I will take you at your word. I want you to know though that I take this seriously. I don't know how far this will go but I'm not just looking for a quick fuck."

John swallowed. "David, there is nothing for you to worry about. I'm not looking for a quick fuck either. I want... I want this to mean something."

And he did. John knew that he felt something for Greg, but he simply wasn't available, and John doubted if now he'd even be interested. Whereas David was available and interested and frankly, much better all round boyfriend material than John had any right to expect.

David sighed in relief. "Thank you. Sorry to get so serious on our first date, I know you wanted to take things slowly. But I do like you a lot and I need to know where I stand."

"Of course."

John decided he had to show him. He reached up with his left hand and cupped David's jaw, while using his right to pull David closer. He looked into his eyes. "You might have to be patient with me for a little while, but I want to be with you, properly." Then John kissed him. It was a deeper kiss this time, with David's left hand tightening round John's right and his right sliding up John's neck and stroking the short hair at the nape of his neck. David made a surprised sound as John opened his mouth and slid his tongue past David's lips. David was quick to respond in kind though, and John felt a familiar warmth in his stomach when David's tongue slid against his own. John had been worried about this all evening, but now it was happening it felt so right, and so good.

"Er-Hmm!"

They broke apart. As accepting as the clientèle of the pub were anyone gay or straight full on making out at eight o'clock on a Wednesday evening was going to get noticed.

David blushed. "Sorry"

John let out a slight giggle.

"Shh! Don't giggle. I thought you wanted to go slow and now you're putting your tongue down my throat in the middle of the pub!"

John was surprised at himself. And over the next few weeks he kept surprising himself with just how far he wanted to go, how much he wanted. The first time they made out on the sofa, John's hands were the first to slide up and under David's t shirt, to stroke the soft hair on David's belly, run, his fingers down the soft trail running to the top of his boxers. When David responded, running his hands up John's chest to rub a thumb over John's nipples John gasped, amazed at the pleasure such a simple action could give.

Or the first time he took David's cock in his mouth. He'd always assumed that this wouldn't be pleasant but that it was a quid pro quo- it didn't feel fair for David to give him so much pleasure without John responding in kind. But as soon as he tasted the salt, felt the soft skin and throbbing veins against the lips and his tongue he was hooked. Not to mention the sounds David made as he took him deeper and deeper. David was a considerate lover, never wanting to make John uncomfortable, but John took pleasure in making him forget, encouraging him with little moans to pump his hips and thrust himself into John's mouth. "God John, yes, I'm so close, I'm going to come..." And dear God the feeling of David filling his mouth with come, to feel so wanted, so desired, it took John's breath away each time.

John also surprised himself by wanting to bottom first, but the desire to be filled, to feel David move inside him was blinding in it's intensity. David had prepared him gently, slowly, stroking his hole with lubricated fingers until John relaxed enough to take a finger, and another. David whispered in his ear the whole time, telling him how gorgeous he was, how much he wanted him, how well he was doing, even as John's body tensed around him. It wasn't until David found John's prostate that John's body stopped trying to push David's fingers out, with John moaning and shaking on the bed. When David pushed his cock inside him John gasped. It hurt, of course it did, but that was so outweighed by the sweet aching pressure that started building up in his gut. When David bottomed out they both groaned.

"Oh John, you feel amazing. Are you alright? Can I move?"

"Yes, please, I need you to."

David slowly pulled out and pushed in again, gasping with pleasure. He did it again and again, slightly adjusting the angle each time as he learnt John's body until John arched up off the bed. "Oh fuck, yes there, just there."

John was writhing in pleasure now, each thrust was hitting his prostate and David was keeping up his deep, steady thrusts, setting a rhythm that had John groaning. John was shaking with desire and David didn't stop his rhythm for a second, thrusting slickly into John over and over again. John looked up at David's face and saw his eyes tightly shut, trying to keep himself under control, concentrating on John's pleasure.

"David, David, open your eyes"

David opened his eyes and looked down at John, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Harder. Please. Fuck me deeper. I want to feel you come inside me."

"Oh Christ"

David finally lost control, thrusting into John hard, his rhythm breaking apart, becoming faster and faster, his breath ragged. His eyes travelled down John's body to where his cock was thrusting in and out of John's hole. "Oh God John, you're amazing, I'm going to come just looking at you taking me. Fuck, fuck, tell me you want it again."

John's head was spinning, he could feel his orgasm approaching as David's cock hit his prostate again and again, pushing into him harder and deeper as David raced towards his own orgasm. "David, please, fill me up, fuck me harder, make me come." Suddenly David had his hand was round John's cock and was tugging harshly as David swore under his breath "fuck, John, fuck, so good, I want to fill you I need to, Oh shit, I'm..." John felt David come inside him a split second before David shouted his name, John arched off the bed and came in thick spurts, feeling his arse clench and quiver round David's sensitive prick.

They lay like that for a while, 'till David finally pulled out and dropped down at John's side. He reached down to his side of the bed for a towel and cleaned John up gently before wiping himself down. David pulled John to him, kissing him and stroking his hair.

"Are you okay? Hurting?"

"A little, but it was worth it. It was amazing"

David smiled. "Good. Now sleep."

Hmm... sleep, that sounded like a good idea. John rested his head on David's chest and slowly started to drift off. So that was his anal sex virginity gone. John grinned. He didn't miss it. He was glad it was David he'd shared it with though. It felt... it felt like it meant something.


	15. Chapter 15

"Harder! Harder!"

"Jesus Sherlock, you're a pushy one. You're tied up aren't I supposed to be the one giving orders?"

Sherlock threw his head back and moaned.

"Harder please!"

Oh fuck. What a sight. Greg had Sherlock tied to a kitchen chair propped against the wall, his arms tight behind his back and his arse right on the edge of the seat. His thighs were held wide open by the spreader bar and sliding in and out of his gaping pink hole was quite simply the hugest vibrator Greg had ever seen. Greg wanted to touch himself, to fist his cock hard as he watched that monster thrust in and out of Sherlock, spreading him wide, but he had one hand on the vibrator and the other holding Sherlock's hip still, fingers digging deep into Sherlock to stop him being pushed backwards by the sheer breadth of the hard silicone in his arse.

Nevertheless Greg was enjoying this experiment. This was part of Sherlock's goal to come without anyone touching his cock. Sherlock, like many men, normally needed some kind of friction there to come, so Sherlock's suggested methods were becoming ever more, well obscene. Greg had known some relatively kinky men but there seemed to be no limit to the amount of stuff Sherlock would shove up his arse to achieve his goal.

Sherlock was shaking and covered in sweat. They'd been going at this for a while now and Sherlock's balls were pulled up tight to his body. So nearly there, but not quite. Well, Greg thought, nothing ventured...

He leaned as close to Sherlock as he could and whispered in his ear:

"You know, I'd love to get you this desperate at a crime scene one day..."

Sherlock's eyes widened "Greg..."

"Can you imagine it Sherlock, down an alley, with Donovan and the others just round the corner, we'd try to be quiet but I know how you can get"

Sherlock gasped and Greg saw his chest slowly start to mottle red. Ah...there we go...

"Hands on the wall, legs spread, but it would be my cock in your arse not this cheap piece of plastic, pounding into you, one hand fisting your cock"

Sherlock screamed, literally screamed. His face was red and his cock was violently twitching.

"That's it, are you picturing it? Me pumping in an out of you? Owning you? What I really want to see though... what I really want to see..."

Greg paused and licked his lips

"Is you coming all over that dirty brick wall..."

Sherlock arched his back and came in great spurts over his chest and Greg's hand, Greg was glad he'd kept a firm hand on the vibrator as Sherlock's body throbbed around it, pulling it deeper in. Greg quickly switched it off to spare Sherlock's sensitive body. He let Sherlock slowly come down for a few seconds before easing the toy out of his twitching arse. Greg took a moment to enjoy the sight of Sherlock's hole open and spasming, before he undid the ropes round the chair and unlinked the spreader bar and uncuffed his ankles. He pushed Sherlock's thighs back open, this time looking for any evidence of tearing or blood he might have missed before. Sherlock was red, and probably sore as hell, but no real damage had been done. Sherlock, who had been looking pretty far gone as Greg untied him, was slowly starting to come back to his senses.

"Okay?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I er... Why did that happen?"

"Why did what happen?"

"Why did you talking to me make me come?"

"Not sure, I don't really understand why it works myself. I think it's partly just another layer of mental imagery and I do like that particular image so I thought you might too..."

"But I don't think I really want the situation you described but it turned me on anyway."

"I know, weird isn't it. But effective."

"Do you want to have sex at a crime scene?"

"I can't imagine anything more stupid to do"

"So you just said it to make me come."

"Yeah, I was slightly worried you were about to have a heart attack."

Greg had been rubbing the life back into Sherlock's wrists and now looked up at him. Sherlock had that dangerous look in his eye.

"Will it work on you?"

"It has done before."

"Can I try?"

"Why not."

"Get on the chair then."

Greg had a sudden panic. "Sherlock that vibrator is coming nowhere near me, I know you're obsessed with getting wider and wider bits of plastic up your arse but I am fine with..." Greg tried to think of a better way of putting it and failed "...standard sized stuff up my arse."

"Did I not just say I was going to use my voice. No vibrator."

Greg huffed. "Fine."

"Close your eyes, don't touch yourself and don't speak"

Oh that was good. Sherlock had put on his sex voice. It was deep and velvety and brooked absolutely no disagreement.

Greg reached behind him and took hold of the strats on the back of the chair, if Sherlock was as good as he thought he was (and Sherlock, irritatingly, was almost always blindingly brilliant at anything he set his mind to) then Greg didn't trust his hands not to wander down to his cock if he left them dangling at his sides.

"Oh very good. I like you with your arms pulled back. It pushes your chest out."

Greg felt Sherlock drift his fingers over his nipples.

"Lovely"

Greg did not know how Sherlock had managed to make that word sound so obscene but it absolutely thrilled him. His cock twitched in anticipation.

"That's it, good boy."

Oh fuck.

"Now in a few moments I'm going to shove my cock hard down your throat. You'll like that won't you? You may answer."

"Yes" Greg could barely recognise his own voice. It was rough and shaky with desire.

"I know you will. You always look so blissed out with my cock stretching your lips wide. You know the bit I like best thought, when I've shoved myself all the way in, and you're just struggling to breathe."

Greg felt Sherlock's hand at his throat, pressing on his windpipe, nothing that would actually stress his breathing but it provided a very effective reminder of the lightheaded feeling he sometimes got when Sherlock was all the way down his throat. Greg felt his breathing got shallow automatically. God Sherlock was good at this.

"And that's when I want to share you, let other people see how gorgeous you look. Shall I tell you what I think about. Just watching you, watching you get filled by someone else. I want to see what it looks like, a thick cock sliding in and out of your arse, you fucking yourself on it. On all fours I think, yes, you look so good on your hands and knees."

Greg sucked in a shaky breath, he could just imagine it, strong hands on his hips, pulling him back, a hot, hard, heavy cock breaching him. And Sherlock, could he...

"Oh yes I'd make you watch me, see me touching myself, pumping my cock, watching you getting filled... I think you'd like that, you'd get off on being watched, you want as many eyes on you as you can get."

Greg could imagine Sherlock's eyes on him, the detecting look he got, when he looked like he could read your bones through your skin. Imagine that being raked over his shaking body, his throbbing cock, his twitching arse.

"I think I'd want someone who looked nothing like me, someone totally different. See what tanned hands would look like grabbing your hips, someone strong, built..."

Oh yes, someone powerful, compact, maybe fair instead of Sherlock's dark curls, someone a bit more masculine rather than Sherlock's aquiline, slightly androgynous features.

Greg yelped as Sherlock grabbed his cock and started pumping, his hand tight.

"Yes, that would be good. And I'd want you talking then I think, I'd want to hear you begging him, pleading, calling his name as you come..."

Greg was shaking now, he was so close, he could almost feel those hands on his hips, that cock deep inside him, could feel... could feel...

"Say his name."

"John!"

Greg came. Hard. But the pleasure lasted only a second before the anger set in. Greg's eyes flew open and he jumped away from Sherlock.

"You bastard!"

Sherlock's expression went immediately from smug to confused.

"What? I thought you'd like it"

Bloody hell, the daft bastard probably did as well.

"No Sherlock, no I wouldn't. Don't manipulate me like that."

"But you want to have sex with him, why wouldn't you enjoy imagining having sex with him?"

Because he felt so guilty. It wasn't that he'd never imagined it, it wasn't that he hadn't come with John's name on his lips before, but it felt wrong- he knew John didn't want that, knew John wouldn't like him thinking about him that way. How to explain that to Sherlock though...

"How would you feel if there was something you wanted, I don't know some piece of lab equipment or something, that you desperately wanted but you knew you couldn't have. Wouldn't it be torture to imagine having it all the time?"

Sherlock cocked his head. Close, but no cigar. There had to be more to it... oh...

"You, you like him don't you?"

"Of course I bloody do."

"No, I mean, you have feelings for him. You don't just want to have sex with him, you want to have..." Sherlock swallowed as if eating a particularly gross bit of chewy gristle "...a _relationship_ with him."

Greg sighed. "I think it's time for me to go home Sherlock- I'll grab a shower then be off."

"No. Why? Please don't go yet."

"For fuck's sake you've come haven't you, what more do you want from me?"

"Greg you're my friend."

"Oh am I now? Thanks, I'll remember that next time you call me an idiot at a crime scene and laugh at my team."

Greg turned towards the bathroom

"Who else are you going to talk to about this?"

"No-one Sherlock. I'm going to think about this as little as possible, and talk about it even less. I need a wash".

And with that Greg left the room.

Sherlock sat back down on the chair and closed his eyes, steepling his fingers under his chin. At least this made the situation easier to understand, though how to resolve it was more of an issue. He reached for the kitchen drawer and pulled out his packet of nicotine patches. This was going to be at least a three patch problem.


	16. Chapter 16

"and I suppose it would be too much to ask for you to at least put the woodlice in some sort of sealed container..."

Sherlock opened his eyes. He was still on the kitchen chair though Greg had somehow managed to get him into his dressing gown without him noticing. That was very impressive. He would need to find an appropriate way to thank him. While John had returned home to find him naked before it normally ended up in some sort of rant about the cleanliness of the sofa cushions or "scaring the b'jesus out of the one woman I've got back here in months!" Sherlock smiled. The look on the woman's face had been entirely worth the twenty minute harangue he'd suffered as a result.

"Ah, back in the land of the living are we now?"

"What time is it?"

"Six thirty, and now I'm going to be late to meet David because the bread I was going to toast for my tea is covered in woodlice."

"No it's not"

"Sherlock have you opened the bread bin recently?"

"They're not woodlice, they're weevils. There was a suspicious death aboard a ship in the 1700s, I needed to find out how long a breeding set of weevils..."

"Enough! I'm off out, I'll get something on the way."

"Wait wait wait"

"What?"

"Do you like David?"

John rolled his eyes. "I would think with your massive intellect you would be able to deduce that Sherlock."

"No, I mean, it's not just sex, this is a relationship, you care about him, he's your "boyfriend"."

"I heard the quotes around that word."

"You're changing the subject."

"Yes I am."

"John look at me."

John turned. Sherlock was sitting with a robe loosely bunched round him (he imagined he had Greg to thank for not being confronted yet again by a naked consulting detective when he opened the kitchen door), his hair all over the place and his serious face on. If it weren't so irritating it would be incredibly endearing.

"I am genuinely trying to understand human relationships. You have suggested I make more effort to do this for a long time. Why won't you help me?"

John glanced down at his watch.

"Okay, you have ten minutes before I absolutely have to leave. Shoot."

"Shoot what?"

"Ask your questions Sherlock."

"Okay, do you care about David?"

"Yes, of course."

"He's important to you?"

John smiled "Yes, he is."

"Then why haven't I met him?"

John was genuinely shocked. Sherlock had to be virtually nailed to a chair to meet his previous girlfriends.

"Why do you want to meet him?"

"Isn't that what one does? When a relationship moves past the first few dates you introduce them to your friends."

"I suppose so."

"Then when can I meet him? Tonight?"

"Tonight? No way."

"Why not, why does the timing make any difference?"

Because, thought John, I need to warn him about you. But If there was anyone who could stand up to your level of scrutiny...

JW to DM: Sherlock would like to meet you (!), do you mind? Meet at mine?

DM to JW: I'm honoured! Of course, see you there in half an hour

"Okay Sherlock, he's on his way. Be nice."

"Of course." Sherlock grinned. He wasn't sure if what he was about to do would be considered entirely good practice amongst the more traditionally moral but he was sure John would thank him in the end for bringing the situation to a head. His general poor performance in social conventions recently would also give him plausible deniability when confronted.

SH to GL: 221b 45 mins?

GL to SH: This better be to bloody apologise.

SH to GL: I have thought of a very inventive way of doing so

GL to SH: Why does that make me nervous? Okay, see you then.

Sherlock grinned. This David person would surely be a poor substitute for Greg, it was Greg John wanted in the first place. Once John had the opportunity to compare them side by side he would pick Greg and everyone would be happy. Sherlock supposed he would have to find someone else to have sex with (the experiment so far had been a roaring success) but how hard could that be? He cocked an eyebrow at himself in the mirror and threw his shoulders back. Yes, no problem at all.


	17. Chapter 17

"Hello, you must be Sherlock, I'm David, nice to meet you."

Sherlock rarely swore, even in his own internal monologue. In general he considered swearing to be a sign of a poor vocabulary, but oh dear fucking God. He had miscalculated. Grossly miscalculated. David was, well, christ-on-a-bike entirely, irrevocably, undeniably gorgeous. And looking at him with a slightly confused expression.

"Oh yes, of course. Come inside."

Sherlock let him walk up the stairs to the flat first. That was a mistake. By the time they reached the top he was nearly drooling. Sherlock had always understood the impact of a well cut suit but those jeans, though they weren't that tight, hung on David's slim hips and hugged his arse beautifully.

"David!"

"Hi you, good day?"

"Not bad, I see you met Sherlock."

"Yes, I did..."

David looked at Sherlock and smiled. Oh that was pretty.

"Erm, a drink perhaps?"

"Oh lovely, what do you have?"

John laughed "The choice is normally tea, coffee and embalming fluid"

"Glad I bought this then" smiled David, handing over a bottle of red wine to John. Sherlock swiftly intercepted it.

"Don't worry, I'll open it- you two sit down."

Sherlock scurried into the kitchen and pulled out his mobile. Normally he preferred to text but time was of the essence, he rang Greg on his mobile. Damn, straight to voicemail, he must already be on the underground. "It's Sherlock. I, erm, I made a mistake, John's here, and David's with him. Don't come round, I'll text you later."

Sherlock fumbled around the drawers for a corkscrew, he couldn't find one anywhere. This was just another example of why John should have agreed to his alphabetisation plan. After a few moments John came in.

"You have absolutely no idea where the corkscrew is do you."

"As I have suggested we could move to a much more efficient filing..."

"Don't want to hear it. I'll sort it out you can go in and speak to David."

The trepidation must have shown on his face

"What's the matter? I thought you wanted to meet him. He won't bite."

Sherlock shook himself. He was worrying unnecessarily. David may be pretty but he surely wouldn't be as interesting or intelligent as Greg- on of the few people at Scotland Yard who was actually worth speaking to. And now he had an opportunity go and confirm that.

"So, David, what do you do when you're not babysitting?"

David smiled a slightly lopsided smile but gave no other response to the jibe.

"Oh, bit of this bit of that. I like art, I went to the Turner exhibition at the Tate last weekend."

"I didn't think that was open yet."

"It is to members, it was the preview weekend."

Oh. well, everyone has one hobby, it doesn't make them interesting.

"Were you planning to see it too then? Do you like Turner?"

"Who doesn't like Turner?"

"I don't know, some people find it a bit, well, oppressive, belittling. I suppose you like the drama though..."

David's eye's were twinkling.

"Of course, not the drama so much but the intensity..."

When John came in a few minutes later with an opened bottle of wine and some glasses he'd in the end had to borrow from Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock was leaning forward in his chair gesturing wildly.

"But of course you can't compare them I don't know how..."

"Sherlock, Sherlock, you're preaching to the choir, the big galleries do like trying to theme everything..."

John smiled. Halle-fucking-lujah. He could leave David in a room with Sherlock for several minutes without anyone ending up in tears or storming off never to be seen again. Something that he'd never achieved with any of his girlfriends.

The doorbell rang. Sherlock's head pinged round to it with a look that John could only describe as trepidation. John placed the glasses on the table. "I'll get it"

"No, no, don't worry let me."

"Sherlock, don't worry, I'm halfway there already."

John was. As soon as he'd seen that look on Sherlock's face he'd been determined to get to the door first. He pulled it open. Greg was standing there in fitted trousers and a soft blue shirt, unbuttoned at least one button further than it normally was and clutching a bottle of wine. The look on his face slipped from frankly lascivious to shocked as he realised it was John at the door.

"Oh, John, I... sorry, Sherlock invited me."

John sighed. Sherlock showing an interest in human relationships? How had he fallen for that one. "Of course he did, come on in." He started walking through the kitchen with Greg in tow. He was almost glad at the blinding rage he was feeling towards Sherlock right now, as it was dampening the shrill note of panic at the thought of having to maintain a calm front with Greg and David in the same room. The walked into the living room.

"Greg, you remember David don't you?"

Greg's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Oh, er... yes, of course, how are you doing?"

"Not too bad at all, not a professional visit I hope?"

"Oh, erm, no, I came to see Sherlock."

David caught John's eye and smiled. John almost sighed in relief. David understood. He understood and he found it amusing. Oh thank God. How had he managed to find someone that smart and that patient?

"Oh I'm terribly sorry, there must have been some mistake. We wouldn't want to spoil your night in with your boyfriend. Here, have the wine- a gift. John and I will head out."

John felt that warm feeling in his stomach again. Masterfully played...

"Boyfriend? Sherlock's not my boyfriend, Sherlock- what have you been saying?"

John had the oddest sensation of feeling his own jaw hanging open. He was sure he should do something about it, but for the life of him he couldn't think what.

"Nothing! I didn't say anything. John just assumed!"

Oh he had done hadn't he? All Sherlock had said was...

"And you didn't correct him?"

"It didn't seem important!"

"Enough!"

John was surprised at himself. "Greg, David, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted. D'you mind if I speak to Sherlock alone for a moment please?"

"I don't want to."

"You don't have a choice Sherlock. Kitchen. Now."


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock skittered into the kitchen. This had not gone at all well. John's mouth had set firm and he looked just like he did last time he shot someone. He turned round and blanched as John continued to advance on him till Sherlock's calves smacked into the back of a kitchen chair and he unceremoniously collapsed into it.

"We will leave the boyfriend or not question for now. What I'm really interested in" hissed John, looming over him, his face right up to Sherlock's "is what the hell do you think you're doing tricking Greg into coming here now?"

Sherlock considered his options, he could lie, say that it was an honest mistake, but no, there was no way Greg...

"Stop! No thinking. The truth. Right now."

Sherlock was panicked enough to do what he was told.

"I needed you to see them side by side! I thought that when you'd had a chance to make a comparison you'd see that Greg... But then David was all wrong, I mean, seriously John how did you do that?"

John blinked. "What? You wanted me to see Greg and David side by side?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes "Yes, of course, who else would I mean?"

"But why?"

"How can you possibly be so stupid? So you would pick the right one! So you would pick Greg!"

"What!" John had clearly realised his voice had spiked in volume and dropped again to his dangerous whisper "Sherlock I don't know how you think this works but in order for me to pick Greg Greg would have to be interested in me."

"He is!"

"No Sherlock, he was. Note the change in tense. At the moment he seems much more interested in you."

"No you idiot, he doesn't just want to sleep with you he wants, I mean, he likes you."

"What are you basing this on?"

However panicked he was Sherlock knew that telling John how he'd come by that information would be so not good their friendship might be irretrievable.

"You don't want to know."

"I swear to God..."

"John, remember when you asked how I knew the boiling point of human semen and I said you didn't want to know?"

John shuddered, that had been his favourite omelette pan.

"So you'll just have to trust me. I know. I would never have slept with him if I knew he actually had..." Sherlock made what John had come to think of as his 'sicky-face' "...feelings for you. I only found out yesterday. So I thought if you saw them together you'd see how good Greg was. But then David..."

Sherlock threw his hands up in the air.

"I mean, what is it about you John? How did you manage it? You're a six, seven at best and David's at least a nine..."

John let Sherlock babble on. Greg liked him? What a time to find out. When he and David were just... Oh God, Greg and David, they were sitting there together. John jumped to his feet and rushed back towards the living room..

...

Greg watched John bully Sherlock into the kitchen and marvelled. No-one else he knew, not even Mycroft, could shock Sherlock into that deer-in-the-headlights compliance.

"What's this all about then?"

Greg flinched. He turned to David and saw the other man's calm face and posture but tough-as-nails eyes that refused to leave Greg's own.

"Ah, well, you know Sherlock..."

"I'm afraid I don't. Would you be able to enlighten me?"

Greg shifted from foot to foot "Look, Sherlock, he's... he's just stirring, I'm sure John will be able to give you a better answer when he's done with him."

"I'm sure he will but I'd be interested in hearing what you think."

"I think it's best if John..."

"Greg!" David had finally lost patience, his jaw was clenched and he was reflexively clenching and unclenching his right fist "I am not an idiot and I've never done anything, as far as I know, that should make you want to lie to me. Will you please explain what's going on."

Greg felt awful. David was right, he deserved the truth. But there was no way the truth would make the situation even better. Perhaps there was somewhere in the middle.

"I think Sherlock has got it into his head that I'm interested in John. I'm not sure exactly what he was going for by setting this situation up but I think he was trying to... help with that."

David's eyes narrowed. "He thinks you're interested in John. I wonder what could possibly have given him that idea?"

"David, listen..."

"No! Like I said, I'm not an idiot. And I really don't have time for this."

David turned to go and Greg reached out and grabbed his arm. David's whole frame stiffened. "Greg, please let me go. I will hit you."

"David, please. Don't walk out on John, he really likes you. Whatever Sherlock thinks he has no interest in me. I know. I... did, well... I tried to sleep with him and he was not interested. He brushed me off, politely but very firmly."

David turned to look at him, his eyes sharp. "Did this happen a few weeks ago? Not long before John and I got together?"

"About that time yeah."

David sighed and pulled his glasses from his eyes to rub they bridge of his nose. He breathed slowly, in and out several times, collecting himself. When he pushed his glasses back onto his nose his voice was like steel "Right. Okay then. Greg you need to let go of my arm." Greg dropped it like it was burning "Could you please tell John that I I had to leave and he shouldn't follow me."

And with that David grabbed his coat and headed resolutely out of the door. Head held high without so much as a backward glance. Greg was absolutely sure at that moment, that he would have really liked David if they'd met under different circumstances.

A sudden noise from the kitchen caught his attention and he turned to see John skidding out and looking at him and the otherwise empty room.

"I'm really sorry John, David left, I didn't mean... I don't know what I said."

John made to head down the stairs but Greg called "He said not to follow him."

At that moment all the nervous energy buzzing round John's small frame seemed to dissipate at once and he dropped down onto the floor.

"Shit. Shit shit shit."

Sherlock peered around the kitchen door "Where did David go? What did you say?"

"I was just trying to fix the bloody mess you landed us in!" Greg turned to John and dropped onto his haunches to meet him at eye level. "I'm really sorry John, I don't know what I said. I was trying to explain... well, I was trying to show him..."

They'd never spoken about it since, Greg realised. Neither of them had mentioned it. It felt so strange to verbalise it, admit it, after so much had happened.

"He thought you were interested in me, Sherlock's little stunt had made him think you wanted me instead of him. So I told him about that night, when you said no. I thought that would convince him but it just made him really really angry."

John looked up at him and Greg was shocked to see John's eyes swimming with tears. He wasn't crying, and Greg was prepared to bet anything that not one tear would fall but the look on John's face was heartbreaking.

"Did you tell him when?"

"Yeah, he asked, I'm sorry, was I meant to..."

"No, don't worry, it's not your fault."

John swallowed heavily. "I think I'm going to go to my room. Sorry Greg, but would you mind leaving? I'm just not sure I can..."

"Of course mate, no problem, I'll see you around." Greg stood up and held his hand out to help John up. John looked at the hand, smiled grimly at Greg in thanks, but pushed himself up with no help, grimacing as his left shoulder took his weight.

Greg grabbed his coat from where he'd dropped it over the sofa and turned to go.

"No!"

They both turned to see Sherlock standing in the kitchen door looking furious. "What the hell are you doing? You both know it now, you know you both like each other- want to be together. Why aren't you..."

Sherlock trailed off as he saw the murderous look in John's eyes.

"Did you not think for one minute Sherlock that I might care about David? That I might like him? Even though I like Greg as well? That he and I breaking up might impact me in some way? No you didn't did you, because you have no fucking clue what you're doing. You are messing with things that you don't understand and that you have no bloody respect for whatsoever. David is great, he's funny and smart and he liked me Sherlock- there was someone who was interested in me not you and that was amazing. It felt amazing. And he was my first..."

John raised his hands in a gesture Greg recognised as somewhere between admitting defeat and trying to physically hold back Sherlock's selfishness. Sherlock to his credit looked utterly dumfounded and crestfallen. The stupid stupid bastard had genuinely been trying to make it all work out. Some kind of Disney happy ending where everyone lives happily ever after.

"Come on Sherlock."

Greg tugged at Sherlock's arm.

"But John, I, I thought..."

"Sherlock, come on, John needs some time. Come on lets go..."

Greg managed to grab Sherlock's door keys and coat and hustle him out of Baker Street.

As he pushed the stumbling Sherlock down the stairs 99% of Greg felt awful. John was still up there standing heartbroken in an empty flat, Sherlock was spinning in a private hell of guilt of his own creation and poor David, who had asked for precisely none of this and deserved it even less, was probably right now striding across the city desperately trying to hold himself back from smacking someone in the face. 99% of him felt awful. But there was that treacherous 1% that kept running on loop through his head: _Even though I like Greg too..._


	19. Chapter 19

John had forgiven Sherlock relatively quickly. After all Sherlock had been genuinely trying to be helpful and John's whole nature seemed geared up now to beatifically accept Sherlock's apologies. Added to that were the little offerings of be-ribboned cartons of milk, loaves of bread, and once a fully gift wrapped jar of Marmite that Sherlock kept leaving at the door of 221b until John let him come home. Greg assumed that this was a misguided attempt by Sherlock to play up his flatmate skills, though it seemed to work.

Sherlock had stayed at Greg's in the intervening days and had been surprised when Greg hadn't been quite so keen to provide him with diverting sex as he had been previously. Mainly Greg felt that if Sherlock had created a situation where John wasn't getting any Sherlock shouldn't be getting any either. Also, muttered the slightly less pure part of his subconscious, if he had even half a chance with John he wasn't going to mess it up for a quick roll in the hay with Sherlock. Even if Sherlock kept making those eyes at him.

The next few weeks were torture for Greg, seeing John at crime scenes looking so quiet and small. He wanted to hug him, to gather him up and kiss him until he forgot where he was and why he was so upset. David and John hadn't been seeing each other for that long but John had clearly fallen for him hard. It got better though. John looked perkier each time he saw him and the first time that John caught Greg's eye and gave him a full, wide smile Greg's heart nearly catapulted out of his chest. At that point he decided. No more messing about. He gave himself a deadline. John still needed more time but he reckoned two weeks would do it. He was going to have to chance his arm.

...

Greg couldn't remember the last time he had felt more nervous. Mrs Hudson had let him in downstairs, murmuring something about looking very dapper. He had made an effort. Nothing fancy but he was wearing his good jeans and an ironed shirt and had tried to get his hair to lay properly. He'd put on some aftershave earlier but then had tried to wash it off in a fit of panic that it would look too much. As such he mainly smelt of lemon soap. He walked up the stairs and knocked on the door.

"Coming, just a sec! Sherlock I can't see why you can't... oh, hi Greg"

John had opened the door and Greg had failed to say anything. He had something worked out a second before but it all seemed to flood away from him at the last minute.

"Is it a case? Thank God, he's been driving me up the wall, I'll just call him..."

"No!"

John looked startled at Greg's abrupt tone.

"Sorry, no, you don't need to get Sherlock, I wanted to speak to you."

John's eyes widened and for a moment Greg thought he'd already blown it but then John stepped into the hall and pulled the door to behind him, just leaving it on the latch.

"Okay, sure."

Greg realised John was waiting for him to speak. Which made sense as that was how conversations usually worked.

"John, I know you really cared about David, and while I didn't try to break you up I know I was part of, well, the circumstances that led to it. I just wanted to apologise for that properly."

"Oh, okay. Well, no worries Greg, it wasn't your fault at all. And I've already forgiven the _unmitigated arsehole_" John shouted these words back through the door for Sherlock's benefit "who actually had something to apologise for."

John looked at him expectantly. Oh yeah, the conversation thing again.

"Well, erm, thank you, that's...good."

"Erm, was that, well, was that all?"

Was Greg imagining it or did John look a little disappointed? Ah well, now or never.

"No, there was something else actually...erm..."

John looked at him and smiled. That big wide smile that couldn't help but be anything other than honest and open and completely beguiling. And that was it for Greg, all the uncertainty, the jealousy, all the mess that had happened over the past weeks and months, it was like it had never happened. It was like he was sitting back on the sofa in 221b giggling away and suddenly saw John's face properly, really taking it in. And it had held his breathing and stopped his heart in his chest and if Greg didn't kiss him right now he was going to explode. So Greg kissed him.

It was glorious. It wasn't the muzzy, tipsy, needy clash of mouths that had been before but something sweet and deep and shattering and John's hand was at the back of his head pulling them towards each other and John's tongue was in his mouth stroking and searching and when John made a breathy little gasp deep in his throat Greg though he was about to fold at the knees.

They broke apart and looked at each other for a moment, getting their breathing back to normal.

Greg swallowed. "I was just wondering if you'd like to go out for a drink with me? If you're free?"

John grinned. "Perfectly free, how's right now?"

"Now would work."

John opened up the door briefly and leaning back in to grab his keys and his wallet from the hall table. "I'm off out Sherlock, I'll see you later."

"But John I need you to help me run the experiment with the eyelids and the..."

John purposefully slammed the door on Sherlock's complaint.

"Shall we?"

"After you."

As he followed John down the stairs Greg grinned, a few months late perhaps, but they got there in the end.


	20. Chapter 20 Epilogue

_Epilogue- A few months later_

They tumbled through the door of Baker Street giggling and pulling off each others jackets.

"Are you sure Sherlock's out?"

"Yeah, it's a Friday night and there's no case, he'll be out searching for the next conquest."

Greg huffed out a laugh as he pulled John's jumper over his head. "I am quite impressed with myself that I managed to turn Sherlock from basically asexual to a voracious soho shark."

"You've ruined him for blonds you know, they're all dark with big brown eyes."

Greg grinned smugly and John rolled his eyes.

"That's where the similarity ends though, they're all about 22. Some of the boys he brings back are just gorgeous."

"Hey, am I not enough for you?"

John slid his hands up from Greg's chest where they were unbuttoning his shirt and round to the back of his neck, drawing him in for a soft sweet kiss.

"More that enough, always."

Greg murmured his approval against John's lips and slowed right down, moving his hands from under John's shirt, using one to hold his cheek and deepen the kiss, and the other he pressed against the small of John's back, pulling the other man closer to him. This stayed like that for a while, kissing softly, and swaying to and fro slightly to a rhythm that was only in their heads. Finally, John pulled away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're too tall"

"That's one way of looking at it..."

"Sofa"

They pulled each other down onto the sofa and started kissing again, hands sliding slowly up under shirts, stroking along thighs, lips slipping from mouth to neck to ears. After pulling back from a particularly leisurely kiss Greg grinned "You still taste like tiramisu."

"Which is impressive given that I managed to get about two spoonfuls of it."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration"

"Really? As I remember you were going to have 'a taste' of mine then you managed to shovel away half a bowlful! You do it every time. It's deeply deeply annoying"

"You love me really."

Oh shit. Greg hadn't meant that. Well, he had meant it but he hadn't meant to say it. The feeling had been whirling around in his gut for a while now but he knew it was early, far too early to have declarations, especially from two men who had been down this road a few times before.

"I suppose I do."

"Do you really?"

"Yeah. I love you."

"I love you too."

…

"Well, good we had this chat."

Greg laughed and pushed John down onto the sofa kissing him. "See that was lovely and you just had to spoil it and have your little joke."

"Did it spoil it?"

"No not really."

"Then to quote a certain Detective Inspector I know, you love me really."

"For my sins, yes I do."

They started kissing again, but something had shifted. The kisses weren't lazy and relaxed anymore but deep and needy. John couldn't believe they'd got there, after a few short months. That the object of his fantasies was on top of him hands, running up and down his sides, greedy for him' loving him. John moaned just at the thought. "Upstairs, please, I want to be inside you tonight."

Greg groaned and pulled himself up, tugging John up with him. "Oh God yes please."

...

Sherlock slowly meandered down Baker Street. The club had been crazy, some University or other had clearly shipped it's LGBT club down to Soho for the night and the dancefloor was full of half naked men, boys some of them, giddy and laughing and, though Sherlock said it himself, very interested. It had been entertaining for a while, getting flirted with, being pulled onto the dancefloor, being the centre of attention, but at around 1am it had started to pale a little. He'd scanned the dancefloor, looking for someone interesting enough to take home and saw no-one. Many of them were pretty enough, and all eager but... Sherlock huffed out a breath. He'd think about it tomorrow, right now he was sleepy (a positive side effect of his new non-case lifestyle was that regular orgasms gave slightly more predictable sleeping pattern) and his brain refused to fire on all cylinders.

He opened the street door and trudged up the stairs to the flat. Pushing the flat door open he saw John and Greg's jackets on the floor by the door. The ever-conscientious John hadn't even managed to get them on the hook. That normally only meant one thing. And then he heard it. They were never particularly loud, while Sherlock knew Greg could make a fair amount of noise when he wanted to, when Greg and John were having sex the only sounds Sherlock normally heard were the occasional bedspring, headboard, groan and the odd muttered expletive. And that was only when he was listening very hard. For some reason tonight the sounds were louder. Sherlock carefully hung up his jacket (take that John, who's the messy one now?) and snuck towards John's bedroom. While Sherlock could probably infer from the various house rules about personal space ("Why are you naked at three in the afternoon? Again?" "Sherlock I want to piss in peace" "No I bloody won't let you measure it, even for scientific purposes!") that listening to Greg and John have sex was probably a no-no, he had very carefully never sought a final definitive answer on that point, and hence felt justified in continuing to do so until caught. As he turned the corner he realised why the sounds were louder, they hadn't properly closed the door.

Jackpot. Yet more information to gather. John was very prudish about some of Sherlock's questions about his sex life and that had led to a shocking lack of data about middle aged gay men in serious relationships. Now was an opportunity for first hand evidence gathering.

He peered through the crack in the doorway, moving slowly to avoid catching in anyone's peripheral vision. He needn't have worried. Greg was on his back, with his head propped up on some pillows, legs spread wide and his hands splayed across the small of John's back, John had one arm bracing himself against the bed and the other was fisted around Greg's cock. They were moving slowly, Greg rising up to meet John's thrusts down. Their faces were millimetres apart, with John sometimes resting his forehead against Greg's. They were both shaking and sweaty and their eyes were fixed on each others.

Interesting. From Sherlock's imperfect data gathering he had understood that John usually bottomed. Partly through mutual preference, and partly... Sherlock shifted slightly to change his line of sight... Holy buggering hell. Of course the full picture was obscured by, well, Greg, but if what he was seeing now, and what he could reasonably assume from what he'd seen when he walked in on John peeing ("Sherlock- how many times? Door closed means bathroom in use!") then there was a reason that this was looking pretty intense for both of them. John Watson had an absolutely massive cock. If only he'd have let Sherlock measure it!

Sherlock was distracted from his musings on that particular loss to science when John started speaking.

"You feel amazing baby, oh fuck."

Again, deviation from the norm. While they had used endearments for each other before (more and more often when they realised how much it made him cringe) he didn't think this extended to the bedroom.

"Shit, John, I'd forgotten... ah!"

"Are you okay? Please say you're okay..."

"Ahh... I'm fine, I'm good, better than good, oh love don't stop, please don't stop"

Intriguing, the intensity of the act had amended all sorts of long-standing behaviours. The change in position had also massively turned Sherlock on. While in the initially stages he'd been observing relatively placidly as soon as he's seen John's cock thrusting deep into Greg's hole Sherlock had been incredibly hard. Now he opened his fly and slid his hands down, into his pants and around his cock, teasing the head before giving himself a long hard pull. He felt the tingle all the way round at the back of his thighs, it really wasn't going to take much.

"Oh, thank god, I need to be in you so much, I need to feel you tonight."

"Oh, fuck, John, yes..."

"I need to know you're mine" Greg gasped and raised one hand from John's back to his face and kissed him hard. When they pulled apart they were panting in time.

"I'm yours, every part of me, I'm yours and you're mine."

They were close, the groans, the shaking, it was intensifying as they tried to hold their rhythm. Fuck Sherlock could almost smell it, he was fisting his cock fast now, faster than they were fucking. He needed this, oh God, he'd needed this for hours now...

"I'm going to come inside you"

Greg whined "Yes please, please, I'm so close, I want to feel you"

"Oh Greg... yes..."

"Come for me, fill me up"

Shit shit shit, Sherlock's hand was a blur, the sheer intensity of it, the way they were talking to each other, that bead of sweat sliding down the cleft of John's arse as he thrust, deep, so deep, into Greg...

"Fuck, Greg I'm... Oh God.. fuck, I love you so much, so much..."

Greg moaned and started a litany, chanting John's name over and over until, with a last shouted "John" he arched his back and came over his chest. John pulled his hand from Greg's cock and plated it square on the bed, giving himself more leverage to pump into Greg twice more before giving a strangled cry and tensing all over as he came deep inside Greg. The extra stimulation made Greg whimper and John was quickly pulling out and shushing Greg, lying them both on their sides facing each other and sliding deep into his arms, stroking his back.

"Are you okay?"

Greg grinned sleepily "Not sure that I'd want to attempt that twice in one night but yeah, I'm okay"

John stroked him carefully "Are you sure?"

"I'm always okay when I'm with you"

"Just okay?"

"There you go again with the jokes"

"That wasn't a joke! Because I'm fantastic when I'm with you. Brilliant. Amazing. Incandescent."

"In love?"

John smiled "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Good." Greg yawned and pulled John closer. "I think I'm going to go to sleep now."

"You do that love."

Greg smiled " 'Love' I like that..."

"Shush now"

"Yes dear"

John grinned and kissed Greg's ear as he felt the other man go soft and quiet in his arms, in a few moments he as also drifting off, all of his senses, his mind and his heart filled to bursting with Greg.

And Sherlock found himself with his rapidly softening cock out, in the corridor, coming to the rapid and not comfortable realisation that he had just got off to a declaration of love. It wasn't the change in positions that had caused the intensity (though that had clearly contributed to it) but the _emotional _intensity of the situation. John had always tried to explain this to him but Sherlock had just assumed that this was a useful social convention to encourage pair bonding and reproduction. Now he had seen it in action however... there was no mistaking that for anything contrived. As Sherlock tiptoed back to his room and lay on his bed he pondered the significance of this. Was this what he was missing from those boys at the club tonight? Did he need to find a way of creating and maintaining an emotional bond with someone (he mentally shuddered) in order to achieve the level of arousal he'd just seen from Greg and John? In which case it would have to be done. His area or no this was clearly a field ripe for research. As he started drifting off a small part of Sherlock's mind suggested that finding love in order to get better sex might not precisely be the point. Ah well, he had never done things in quite the conventional way. As each gear in Sherlock's mind shut down one by one, Sherlock idly wondered whether David's Tate membership card and recent history with John might be a good enough basis to start to a long term relationship. After all, he had read it was important to have shared interests...

...

_Epilogue to the epilogue- a few days later_

"Jesus, Sherlock, what happened to you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing, what do you mean? Your nose is bleeding and your eye's swollen shout. Did you take a case without me?"

"No. It's nothing. I... I underestimated someones negative emotional response and overestimated my own persuasive abilities"

"You mean you did something insensitive and stupid and got punched in the face?"

"Yes."

"Fine, let's get you cleared up. Can I have my phone back too please."

"Yes, of course, I don't think I need it anymore..."


End file.
